Well, he did talk in his sleep--and it disturbed me very much indeed.
The anger and violence of his words remain with me to this day, and it
was clear in a minute that he was living over again some portion of the
scene upon the lake. I listened, horror-struck, for a moment or two, and
then understood that I was face to face with one of two alternatives: I
must continue an unwilling eavesdropper, or I must waken him. The former
was impossible for me, yet I shrank from the latter with the greatest
repugnance; and in my dilemma I saw the only way out of the difficulty
and at once accepted it.
Cold though it was, I crawled stealthily out of my warm sleeping-bag and
left the tent, intending to keep the old fire alight under the stars and
spend the remaining hours till daylight in the open.
As soon as I was out I noticed at once another figure moving silently
along the shore. It was Hank Milligan, and it was plain enough what he
was doing: he was examining the holes that had been cut in the upper
ribs of the canoe. He looked half ashamed when I came up with him, and
mumbled something about not being able to sleep for the cold.
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